


Darling, Everything's On Fire

by CaroltheQueen (always_1895)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_1895/pseuds/CaroltheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke had waited a couple of days before telling them... All Abby remembered thinking in that moment, with cold, heavy dread threatening to crush her, was: <i>no, we haven't had enough time.<i></i></i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i><br/>    <i>Post-season 3, when Clarke tells them all what she learned from ALIE in the City of Light, Abby and Marcus realise they don't have the time they thought they had.</i></i><br/>  </p>
            </blockquote>





	Darling, Everything's On Fire

Clarke had waited a couple of days before telling them. Whether she'd thought she could soften the blow somehow, or perhaps she didn't want to hit them with another pronouncement of their impending doom straight after their ordeal with ALIE, Abby doesn't know. Either way, she doesn't think her daughter had the right to keep it from them, but she's so damn tired of fighting Clarke on leadership decisions. From the lack of shock and horror on Bellamy's face when Clarke told their inner circle the truth, gathered in the war room, he'd clearly been in the know for a while. Long enough to process it and join his voice to Clarke's when they'd started in on possible courses of action. 

There was some shouting, mostly from Octavia, who had looked at her brother and seen the same lack of reaction that Abby saw, and then Raven, who was also outraged at being kept in the dark. Everyone else looked mostly afraid or grave. Indra faced the room, but her eyes were far away; still, but not defeated. Her fire was simmering, waiting. Abby had reached for Marcus the same time he did for her. Their hands met, and clasped, a second before their eyes did. His were wide with fear, and concern that she knew was directed at her, his brown gaze trying to convey a thousand thoughts and feelings that had gone unspoken between them in all the years they'd known each other. All Abby remembered thinking in that moment, with cold, heavy dread threatening to crush her, was: _no, we haven't had enough time. ___

She feels numb now, sitting on the couch in the Chancellor's quarters that she and Marcus have wordlessly co-habited together since returning from Polis. They'd crawled into bed together that first night, beyond exhausted and unwilling to separate, wrapped themselves around each other and passed out. And they've been doing the same thing every night since. Abby doesn't know if they need to talk about it, how their personal living habits have slotted together so seamlessly, especially now that Clarke has dropped her truth bomb (pun intended, she thinks, morbidly.) There hasn't been any rush or conversation to their growing intimacy, both perhaps picking up instinctive cues from the other and pacing themselves together. There has been a lot of kissing and touching in the time they've managed to steal for themselves, learning the taste and feel of each other's mouths and bodies; the ways they can fit together. 

Abby awoke in the small hours of the morning a couple nights ago, to find Marcus spooned up against her, his erection pressing insistently against the small of her back. She'd felt a surge of desire to touch him, to make him feel good, to see him come, so she rolled over in his arms to face him, still sleeping soundly. Slowly, carefully, so as not to wake him all at once, she'd slipped a hand into his worn, flannel pants and wrapped it around him. He was hot, hard, and smooth under her touch and she thought about how good it would feel to have him inside her. She stroked him leisurely, thumb circling the head of him every so often, and his hips began moving unconsciously, thrusting into her hand. 

She knew the moment he woke up because he was gasping, “Abby!” and drawing her closer to sleepily capture her mouth. When he came he cried out, panting heavily into her neck, hand clutching her hip, and Abby felt a deep sense of pleasure of her own, to just be able to give him that rush. She was content to just kiss him and watch him give her a sated smile, before falling back to sleep. 

He'd awoken the next morning intent on returning the favour.

They were happy to just let things happen like that, to slowly savour and discover one another. Well, they _had _been, Abby thinks, as she waits for him, her whole body feeling like a tightly coiled spring. She's suddenly desperate to have him deep inside of her because they can't afford to take their time anymore.__

When she hears his footsteps approaching fairly quickly and the door flies open, she sees the blazing look of need on his face when he finds her there, and she knows they're on the same page. There's a split second of silent agreement, then Marcus is closing and locking the door behind him, Abby is on her feet, crossing the distance, and she jumps into his waiting arms. She wraps her arms and legs around him as he easily takes her weight, and their lips meet in a desperate, hungry kiss. His mouth is warm and wet, familiar against her own now, moving together in a way they've been able to perfect; in a way that makes her shiver with each stroke of his tongue and rasp of his beard. He catches her lower lip with his teeth and she moans low in her throat. In makes him respond in kind and grind against her, hands pressing where he holds her up. The friction and pressure from his own arousal rubs against her _perfectly _, and Abby breaks the kiss to cry out and gasp his name.__

“Mmm?” He rumbles, as he trails his mouth to her neck, leaving a prickling wet heat in his wake.

“Want you. Now.”

He nips at her ear, “I know.” He presses her hips down again, hitting that spot, and sharp jolt of pleasure shoots through her.

_“God!” _She threads her fingers in his hair and pulls his head back enough to look at him. His pupils are huge, mouth red, skin flushed, hair wild and silky in her hands. He is _hers.___

Abby wants to keep him like this for a lifetime. Six months is unthinkable. Six months could never, _ever _be enough. She wants to cry and rage and scream, and Marcus must see something change in her expression. But before he can say or do anything, she grabs his face,__

“I love you.” She almost moans it with how desperately she means it, how much she feels it, an exquisite ache in her chest. He looks at her with intense yearning before he's kissing her, and kissing her, like he's pouring himself into her, and walking with her in his arms. Before she knows it she's laying back on the bed with him looming over her, looking at her like she's just saved him and destroyed him in one fell swoop.

“I love you, too.” His voice is wrecked, and he ducks down to press his forehead to hers. “I love you. I love you.” She runs her fingers through his hair and knows they're of one mind; she gasps their thoughts out loud,

“I can't lose this. I _can't. _”__

Marcus just shushes her and kisses her and starts pulling her top up, because they don't lie to each other. They may avoid, and hold out from facing one another, but they don't outright lie, and Abby knows that he can't promise her a future, or that they will figure it out because they always do. But he can promise her _this _, here, right now. He can tell her he loves her and mean it with every fibre of his being. So she leans up and into the kiss, loses herself in the feverish play of lips, and tongue and teeth, and pulls at his clothing too. They make it far more difficult for themselves to strip, unwilling to relinquish the heady feel of each other, hand and mouths searching out every patch of newly exposed skin. But once every barrier is gone, Abby quickly reaches for him and wraps a hand around him, guiding him to her entrance. He presses against her, and she senses him holding back, concerned, perhaps, that she needs to go slow. She needs the exact opposite.__

“Marcus, please... Now.” She hitches her legs up around his waist and presses a heel into his lower back, urging him to move, and Marcus kisses her as, with one smooth thrust, he's finally, _finally, _buried inside her.__

They moan into each other's mouths, and Marcus immediately pulls out, almost all the way, then drives back into her again with a force that sends a shock of pleasure pulsing through her. He fills her so deeply and so completely, and _this _is what Abby has been craving. This feels like where they've always been heading; a slow burning build that could never be anything but explosive when they finally came together. They've learnt each other slowly and gently, and it's all lead to this: letting go and holding nothing back.__

Marcus is taking her, fucking her, _claiming _her, just as she had thought of him as hers, and each hard thrust is building that swell of pleasure, hitting a spot deep inside that has Abby arching her back and clutching his shoulders. But there is no doubt that he is making love to her, too. He sinks into her like he never wants to leave, nuzzling into her neck with quiet groans and murmurs of her name.__

The hand that he had wrapped around her thigh slips between them and he presses tight little circles just above where they are joined. White hot sensation crashes over her, and Abby pulls his mouth back to hers just in time for him to swallow her cry as she comes. Her orgasm is hard and intense, and for now there is nothing but Marcus, still moving, still sending waves washing over her as he chases his own release. He starts to lose his rhythm, and Abby runs a hand through his hair, whispers breathlessly,

“Come on, baby.” And that seems to be the thing that tips him over the edge, and he's coming, hips jerking, with her name on his lips. 

He settles down and she stays wrapped around him, keeping him inside, both catching their breath. Marcus rests his head on her chest and Abby keeps stroking his hair, dropping kisses to his sweaty forehead. Finally, in a quiet voice, as though to not shatter the peace that has fallen over them, he says,

“If we hadn't come down here, we wouldn't have had this at all.”

Abby understands what he's saying, but in hindsight she still can't decide if it would be crueler for them to have died in space, with their friendship fractured and strained, or to have this borrowed time to find each other, yet have that much more to lose. The part of her that still clings to hope wants to believe that it can't just be a coincidence, that they took a chance on Earth during the only year or so it happened to be habitable. But maybe this is just what happens down on the ground: radioactive highs and lows. 

Still, neither their generation nor Clarke's was ever meant to see the beauty of this world up close. They were never meant to breathe in it's mountain air, walk in it's forests, or learn to swim in it's rivers and oceans. Abby never thought she'd find, or deserve, love again after Jake, but she's fallen completely for the gentle, caring man Marcus has always had the potential to be, and who has flourished here on the ground. If ALIE has driven anything home, it's that love and pain are inextricably entwined, and Abby knows she wouldn't trade the overwhelming feeling of having Marcus here in her arms to avoid whatever pain the future _might _bring.__

“I'll keep this for as long as I can.” She says, and he raises his head to look at her, “I'll keep you.”

His laugh rumbles through him and settles somewhere in her chest, “You have me.”


End file.
